


A Few Too Many Redbulls

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Because Ryan Ross loves idiots, Brendon Urie Being an Idiot, But it's okay, Coffee, College, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Keltie Knight, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Brendon Urie, Panic! at the Disco References, Pansexual Brendon Urie, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Pre-2009-Split Panic! at the Disco, Roommates, Ryan Ross Being an Asshole, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie Fluff, Sad Ryan Ross, Sassy Brendon Urie, Sassy Ryan Ross, Strangers to Lovers, Student Brendon Urie, The author cannot write for shit, University, maybe don't expect too much out of this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ryan and Brendon are in college.  They randomly get placed in the same dorm room and though their personalities clash quite a bit, Brendon finds himself drawn to Ryan’s mysteriousness.  Ryan just thinks that Brendon might have downed one too many Redbulls.
Relationships: Keltie Colleen/Ryan Ross, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Z Berg/Ryan Ross
Kudos: 10





	1. Fear + Ink = ?

The door finally swung open, and Brendon could nearly scream for joy. “Hi!” Brendon exclaimed at the seemingly taken aback character in the doorway. “My name’s Brendon! I hope we’ll be good friends. You look like a friendly person.” This, however, was a huge lie. The lanky man in the doorway did not seem friendly, nor did he seem like a person in his black skinny jeans and a tight band shirt. His bones poked out in awkward directions as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and his skin looked pale enough to have not seen the sun in years.

“My major’s music,” Brendon said, “What’s yours?” He paused in thought and continued, “Um, What do you go by?” The student rolled his eyes and sighed, “My name’s Ryan. Well, Ryan Ross.” Ryan began to speak, but Brendon’s features suddenly gained a curiosity that made his lips freeze in place.

Brendon began to wonder aloud, “I looked at your name on the sheet. It said your name was George. I've never met anyone who went by a nickname that far from their real one.” Ryan shuddered slightly at something and attempted to deflect what Brendon had said. “That’s not my name. They must have mixed it up with someone else. Ross is a super common last name,” he mumbled nonchalantly and lugged his suitcase into his room.

“Well,” Brendon trailed off as he followed him to the doorway of his room, “Are you sure you’re in the right dorm then? Maybe you got it mixed up.” Ryan rolled his eyes in a frustrated fashion. “Here, if you need proof, take these.” He shoved his ID at Brendon. “Dorm 293. Go find someone else to bother, kid.” He closed his door with force and just narrowly missed Brendon’s nose. The door clicked shut, and Brendon shrugged before taking his stuff into his room.

His enthusiasm had never caused that sort of reaction before. People get frustrated, yes, but he regularly makes people happier. Either that or they give him a piece of their mind. Then, at least he knows how to act acceptably. Ryan Ross was just a mystery. An enigma of a human being. But, Brendon resolved, he knows he'll figure it out. If he knew anything, it would be how people operate. Even if it might sound like he’s a creep for it, he could and would figure out George Ross.

. . .

Later that night, Brendon was reorganizing his quarters. He glanced around the bedroom, and his eyes finally settled on the clock. The numbers hardly seeped into his overtired brain before he looked away. He dragged his bed to the other side of the room, and the metal frame rattled loudly as the rubber grips stuttered on the floor. There was a loud knock on his door, and before he could even tell the person to come in, the door swung open, creaking on its hinges. “What the hell are you doing?” a faint, tired voice questioned from the doorway, “It’s three in the morning, Brendon. You have classes tomorrow, and so do I. Why can’t we just go to bed?” Brendon turned toward the doorway and shrugged. “Is it really that late?” he asked simply, then looked at the clock, solving his question with a soft “Oh.”

“I’m sorry I just,” Brendon trailed off, “I don’t know how I want this to look. It’s kind of a mess right now.” He gestured lamely at the carpet, with his bed in the middle of the room and clothes strewn about. “Help me?” he said softly, just hoping that Ryan would take the bait.

He began to pick up his mess with his back turned to Ryan, and he heard a tired groan from his roommate. A few seconds later, from the doorway, he heard a voice grumble, “Whatever gets me to sleep by four, I suppose.” Ryan came into the disaster of a room and started moving his stuff into a small pile while hanging up the clothes still on the floor, and Brendon finally started to get his furniture into place.

Ryan let out a large sigh after a few minutes of cleaning, and grumbled annoyedly, "These clothes could be used so much better if you'd donate them instead." Brendon rolled his eyes and turned sharply, not sure if he was actually angry, raising his voice a little. He lectured, "Listen, if you want to help, then do it. I don't want to be criticized on what clothes I have. And it's not like there's much room for you to speak, is there? What, with you waltzing around in those stupid skinny jeans and that three-sizes-too-small shirt. Shut up or get out." There was a fire burning in his eyes, but as soon as he looked at Ryan's wavering stance, his flame was suddenly smothered. "Wait," he stammered, "Please don't-- um-- please don't go. I didn't mean to do that." He suddenly got cut off by an irate-looking Ryan. "No, Urie, you're right," he grumbled, "I have no room to speak."

Brendon's heart started to race, and he chased after Ryan, who was retreating to his room. He whispered into the open room, "Ryan, please, come back." Ryan answered this with a swift door in his face, and Brendon sighed, deflated now. He shook his head and went back to his room just before shoving his bed into his corner and laying down.

Brendon couldn't sleep. No matter how hard he tried, he just felt like bouncing around and cleaning the mess in his room. His mind raced with doubtful thoughts and he couldn't flip the switch off. He tossed and turned so much that the frame of his uncomfortable bed complained in shrieks and squeals. It felt like a million different thoughts trying to get his attention and struggling for his notice. Eventually, he just sat up in his bed, relinquishing any hope of sleeping he might have had. Brendon rocked forward and backward, the nerves getting to him. If there was only one emotion that he felt most prevalently, it was fear. Fear of losing everything just because he couldn't stay quiet.

This was meant to be his time to start over. He was supposed to begin a new chapter in the book, on a blank slate. But it looked like he was just writing over the old story with new ink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, I guess since this is my first real fic i should explain myself. I'm Cori. I'm not the greatest author. I wouldn't count myself close. You might get really sad if you read this fic because i'm very flaky about when i write. Maybe just give me gratification so I keep dishing out crappy chapters of this AU. Thanks, love y'all. xo


	2. People Are Alright, Sometimes

Brendon climbed out of bed the next morning as soon as the sun shone in the windows. His hands gravitated toward his sleep-deprived eyes as he yawned at the white wall across the room from him. He got out of bed and stretched, his joints crackling like pop rocks. Today was not going to be an enjoyable day.

He dragged himself into the little kitchen that all four of them shared and began to brew a pot of coffee. Then, with his back aching from the night's stress, Brendon opened a pack of microwave burritos and popped two in the intended appliance. He yawned and propped himself up against the counter, almost falling asleep until the microwave started to beep aggressively in his ear. His entire body jolted as if struck by lightning, and he jabbed his finger at the button to stop the grating sound.

Brendon sighed with relief as the noise ceased, whispering to himself, "Thank god." Everything in him relaxed for just a moment, but then he saw the furious red numbers on his alarm clock. He was going to be late for class.

He rushed out to the microwave, grabbed his burrito, and stuffed it in his mouth before preparing to bolt. "Fuck," he mumbled to himself, just before glancing at the green digits on the toaster oven that read, "6:38." Spoiler alert: he was not going to be late for class.

Brendon went over to Ryan's door and knocked hesitantly. "Ryan?" he asked shyly, sure to be quiet and gentle after last night's little meltdown. "How do you take your coffee?" All he got in response was a low-pitched groan, so he asked again, "How do you like your coffee? Uh, grunt once for drowned in creamer, twice for normal, and three times for black." He heard one and kept waiting for another, figuring that he'd be a black coffee sort of guy, but he heard nothing, so he shrugged and went back to the mini kitchen.

He took a mug and filled it partially with coffee, then most of the way with creamer. A smile spread on his face as he looked down at the little flowery design that adorned the surface and almost hoped that Ryan would be able to tell that there was sentiment in the ceramic. Brendon's mom gave him that mug before he moved out. It was the last gift she ever gave him and the first that he ever kept.

His heart sunk a little in his chest before he walked to Ryan's room. He entered without knocking, figuring that the beverage in his hand gave him a special pass to enter without permission. "Drowned in creamer, just like you asked," Brendon chirps, albeit quietly, so the words don't sound abrasive to tired ears. "Figured since I kept you up so late, it was the least I could do." Ryan hummed with his voice rough in his throat, then took the warm mug from his hands.

Ryan sipped from the warm glass and smiled a little, looking up at him and declaring, "You're making all the coffee from now on." Brendon smiled a little and shrugs. "I can deal with that." Suddenly, the tired, dull-looking Ryan gained some charisma and smirked at Brendon, saying, "Are you sure about that? I tend to have a craving for coffee at a lot of odd times." Brendon nodded and smiled back slightly. "If that's what it takes for you not to hate me after last night," Brendon muttered lowly, "Then I'm willing."

"Hmm," Ryan replied and looked down into his nearly white pool of coffee. "What happened last night?" he asked confusedly, taking another drink of his coffee. "You seemed a little off." Brendon shrugged and looked down. "It's nothing," he said, "Just me being tired, probably."

"When's your class?" Ryan changed the subject, still sipping at the diluted coffee. "Anything fun?" Brendon smiled and realized for a moment that Ryan was finally opening up a little and trying to talk. "Can anything really be fun at seven in the morning?" Brendon quipped. Ryan cracked a grin and let out a little chuckle before murmuring into the hot liquid in his mug, "I guess not."

Ryan kept sipping at his coffee, the sun glaring in through the windowpanes over his desk. "How much did you sleep last night?" he inquired after a brief silence. "Well," Brendon attempted to deflect, but then decided he might as well be honest with his roommate. "Not at all. Couldn't stop my mind from running," Brendon remarked shortly, shrugging a little, "It's not all that uncommon that that happens to me."

A small frown came over Ryan's face, and he shifted over to pat the bed. "Come sit down," he ordered in a soft voice, "If you're gonna go through today exhausted, you might as well rest as much as you can beforehand." Brendon hesitantly accepted the invitation and sat on the side of Ryan's bed, letting his head angle slightly to the left to see Ryan's head rather than his floor. "What's your major?" Brendon asked in a quiet, bashful tone, "You never really told me."

"Oh," Ryan said and took another sip of coffee, "I'm an English major." Brendon smiled a little and shrugged. "Never would have thought so. You seem," he trailed off before continuing, "You seem more like a Psychology major to me. Or maybe Theater. Never would have taken you for a language sort of guy." Brendon smiled a little, hoping that Ryan saw that he was only poking fun at him. "It's really interesting, though. English is a pretty tough subject to master," Brendon said in an awe-struck sort of timbre.

"Tell me about it," Ryan groaned softly just before sipping the final remains of his coffee. "You should get yourself some coffee," he commented, "You're looking a little too tired to go to a lecture that's almost 100% sure to be on the syllabus." Ryan melodramatically tacked on after a beat, "Go on, leave me all alone to rot." Brendon got up, but teased, "Such a theater major." Before Ryan could even splutter out a half-baked answer, he left the room and poured himself a cup of black coffee. He yawned and grabbed his burritos out of the microwave before heading back to the bedroom that Ryan chose.

"I bring sustenance," Brendon said dramatically, playing along with Ryan's little woe-is-me act, "In the form of burritos and black coffee for myself." A small smile spread over Ryan's features almost as smoothly as butter before he answered, "Thank you, my lord." Brendon merely smirked at him, waited a beat, then responded, "The pleasure is mine... M'lady." The target of the jeer rolled his eyes. "I am not a woman," Ryan defended himself. Brendon chuckled noiselessly and mumbled through a mouthful of burrito, "You never know." The supposed woman's eyes rolled in a way that spoke a million words and painted a thousand pictures that all just said, "Fuck you."

Ryan just mumbled, "More coffee," and stuck out his mug. "Why should I take that?" Brendon inquired laughingly. He drank from his mug and continued while smirking, "You just back talked me, Ross. I'm not sure I should reward that kind of behavior. It might teach you to do it again." He winked and took the mug, leaving the room just as Ryan flopped back on the bed with a jokingly frustrated grumble. The broken mattress bounced underneath him as he redistributed his weight.

After a few minutes, Brendon returned with his roommate's coffee in hand. Ryan gratefully accepted the almost white cup of sugar and caffeine and tipped it back into his mouth with a look of near-ecstasy illuminating his face. "Good?" Brendon queried and sat on the lumpy mattress. Sitting on a bed of stone would probably feel better than Ryan's bed, but he dismissed it. Ryan merely hummed in response and kept sipping at his coffee. "You know," Brendon hinted to him, almost laughingly, "One of those burritos is for you."

"Are there any tomatoes in there?" Ryan asked blandly and turned his head toward the window, only to nearly blind himself. "Allergic?" Brendon asked in a motherly sort of tone, and Ryan nodded meekly. "I'll go check." Brendon smiled a grin as radiant and as warm as the sun rising outside, then went and checked the package. He quickly but effectively skimmed the ingredients, then made his way back to the room. "None, you're safe to eat." Ryan let a small, tempered smile veil his face as he picked up the burrito. It seemed as if the skinny boy had to restrain himself from swallowing the food whole, but he managed.

"There's a whole box if you want," Brendon mocked him, "Really, it's fine. I got them on a discount." Ryan rolled his eyes and took the last bite out of his burrito. He fired back at him, "I was gonna ask for another, but I guess I'll just get my own." Ryan got up, and the mattress creaked a considerable amount as it began to consider collapsing. "I don't take food from inconsiderate assholes." Just before leaving, Ryan winked in his direction as a way to tell he was kidding, and it nearly made Brendon's heart flutter. Nearly. It's not like he was gay or anything. That would be a sin, and Brendon wasn't sinful. Or, maybe he was. He tried not to be.

Brendon just rolled his eyes as had seemed to become custom, and looked around at the room. It was almost flawless in design, everything deliberately arranged. The only thing that was out of order was Ryan's bed, and even that wasn't too untidy. There was a black rug on the floor, and band posters were staggered along the wall. Hey, this kid had taste, Brendon realized with a sort of awe. He gazed at the posters, which were plastered haphazardly about the wall. Brendon didn't allow himself to get too caught up in Ryan's music taste, though, since his eyes were then caught by the ornate bookshelf in the corner of his room. It seemed as if Ryan was trying to hide it when he organized his quarters, but it was stacked side to side with books. Some volumes were even resting on top of those that were organized correctly on the shelf. Even from far away, Brendon could see that Ryan had amassed many Chuck Palahniuk books. Maybe that was his favorite author. Brendon would have to ask him about that sometime.

Brendon seemed to gravitate toward the shelves that held countless stories, handpicked by the owner of the room, but was stopped by a quivering voice behind him. "Stop," Ryan said in a faint, trembling voice. "That's special," he whispered into his plate, and Brendon instantly backed away. Brendon's face contorted into a grimace as he murmured, "Sorry, I didn't mean to--" but he got cut off by a voice that seemed like it was, if nothing else, shaken. "It's fine. Just," Ryan paused and sat on the squealing mattress. "Don't touch my stuff," he concluded, with a half-hearted, tacked on, "Please."

"Yeah," Brendon said, "Um, yeah, sure." He backed off as if the mahogany bookcase had suddenly been consumed with hell-like flame. "I can still sit on your bed, though? Right?" His lip found its way between his teeth, and he worried it between them apprehensively. "Uh," Ryan started, then a knock sounded at the door. "I should get that," he quickly deflected, "It's my friend. You should probably get going to your class anyway. See you later?" There was a sinking feeling that resounded in his bones, but he just nods, smiling so tensely that he could be grimacing. "See you later," he agreed and made his way out of the room.

A fog penetrated his consciousness, and all of the minuscule, evaporated water droplets in it screamed that he was a creep, that he didn't deserve to have friends or even have a possibility of making them. He drowned them out with a cup of coffee while he strolled the campus. They just kept screeching in every atom of his being, but he ignored his war-like thoughts like a child in the middle of their parents' divorce.

After a few moments of solitude, he heard a familiar voice calling out from behind him, "Yo, Bren!" Brendon turned, his coffee sloshing in the cup, to see Jon swaggering toward him in his stupid leather flip flops. "Hey," Brendon greeted stiffly and continued on his way, "What's up, Jon?" The man in the flip flops shrugged and knocked Brendon's shoulder jokingly. "Hey, man, what's got you so down?" Jon asked pleasantly, "Today's the first day of school. You could probably just zone out for all of class today anyway." Brendon grumbled under his breath, "Class isn't the problem, Jon," and took a sip of his nearly-cold coffee. He almost wanted to chuck the mug into the concrete now. It reminded him too much of what happened that morning.

"What the hell are you overthinking this time, Brendon?" Jon moaned exasperatedly, "You've only been here for a day! There's nothing to overthink!"

"Well," Brendon started, raising his eyebrows, "You're wrong on that one. I could be overthinking the fact that there's nothing to overthink about, which I do quite often." Walker just groaned at him, his eyes silently communicating how idiotic he thought Brendon sounded. "That's not what I'm thinking about, though," Brendon nearly whispered.

It was clear that Jon was frustrated with the displeased sound that came rumbling from his throat before he scolded him, "You didn't take your medicine, did you?" Brendon chugged the last of his coffee, and paused on the sidewalk to take his backpack from its place swung over his shoulder, stuff the mug in, and put it back. "Fuck, Jon," Brendon moaned, then started mocking him in his interpretation of a teenage girl's voice, which, weirdly enough, was only a few pitches higher than his normal speaking voice. "Yes, mom, I did," Brendon simpered, then punched his friend in the arm. Even with his deflection, he was sure that his dislike for the pills showed. He hadn't taken them.

Despite the lack of medication, Brendon felt the most clearheaded he had in a while. It was as if even the clouds that were all of his thoughts couldn't obscure the sun. He could think for once. He felt, at the very least, at peace, for the first time in years. "What are you thinking about, then?" Jon inquired, his voice no longer bearing any hints of anger, but rather streaks of confusion. Brendon just shrugged him off and began to walk into the building his next class was in. The conversation would end. Jon surely had a class to go to, right?

"Come on," Jon whined, "Tell me!" Oh yeah, Brendon realized, Jon has this class with me. He simply rolled his eyes at him. "I met a guy," Brendon plainly said as he scanned his ID and let himself into the building. "Oooh!" Jon almost squealed, "Who? Is he cute?" He drew out the last word, his voice heightening to the pitch it had been before he went through puberty. A groan sounded from Brendon's throat, and he sat in a seat in the lecture hall. "No, he's awful, actually," Brendon deadpanned, "I can't stand to even look at him."

"Come on," Jon cajoled Brendon, and his mahogany eyes pleaded with the man he was interrogating. Brendon opted to ignore Jon's whining, letting his fingers drum on the table. Jon's voice only echoed in his head as he pulled his lips into a thin line and waited for the proctor to show up. Only when their professor stepped onto his podium did Jon, along with the rest of the room, fall into a collective hush.

For the rest of the class, Brendon and Jon snickered at the man at the front of the classroom. The white-haired orator seemed to talk in one pitch, and it was incredibly easy to become inattentive to his words. By the end of the lecture, his head was in another world from his body. His eyes were unblinking, frozen in place as he stared at the cream-colored table. A few more bounces of Brendon's leg passed, and finally, the professor released them. There was a relieved sigh that was made by all around the room, so he knew that it wasn't just his ADHD acting up when he couldn't pay attention. He'd have to see about taking a different class, or at least the same one with a different professor.

Jon followed close behind as Brendon bolted out of the lesson hall. He'd learned in years previous to always sit in the back of the classroom-- with that large amount of people who go to the seminars, you have to be first out the door. Otherwise, you'll never make it out (which can be a problem if you have a class five minutes later, on the other side of campus).

"So, gonna tell me about this mystery man now?" Jon probed optimistically, "Please?" Again Brendon's eyes rolled in their sockets but then froze on a couple in the distance. His lips curled upward into a slight smirk, and he turned to Jon. He quipped, "How about I show you him instead?"

Jon followed the trail of his eyes, and his face contorted into one of concern. "He really is," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "Awful to look at?" Brendon pushed Jon off the sidewalk, and he stumbled dramatically onto the ground. His friend got off the ground faux hesitantly, then brushed himself off and rejoined him. "You're a real asshole," Jon grumbled.

Brendon shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe you shouldn't insult my roommate," he defended, and for some godforsaken reason, his heart fluttered at that he was calling Ross his roommate. God, they were hardly acquaintances. Much less could they be anything more with that dumb blonde in his way.

Jon shrugged back to him, and within seconds, Brendon's hand was around his wrist. He was forcefully pulling his friend toward the couple. From the looks of them, they were polar opposites. The girl had on bright red lipstick and a very fashion-forward outfit (A black crop top with tulle sleeves-- nothing fancy). Meanwhile, Ryan donned a gray and white flannel with a dark brown vest buttoned over it, along with a burnt orange hat to frame his curls on his face. For bottoms, he was wearing a too-short and too-tight pair of skinny jeans that hugged him all over but especially showed off his-- No. We are not thinking about that. Not now, not ever.

"Hey," Brendon greeted in a friendly tone. Ryan quirked his eyebrows at him, and his lips bent into an almost sneaky grin. "Hey, coffee boy," he said and elbowed Brendon's side, "What's up?" Despite his growing embarrassment at Ryan's new nickname for him, he managed to observe, "That name would be way more hurtful if I'd like, spilled coffee all over you. I was just trying to be friendly, you ass." Ryan burst out in laughter, and Brendon was almost sure that he could fly until a realization brutally grounded him, figuratively pounding him into the ground. He had a girl on his arm. That laugh wasn't for him to hear. It probably wouldn't ever be for him to hear. And, that fact should be easy to swallow, he figured, but it felt wrong. They were like two adjacent puzzle pieces, meant to be next to each other. Except not. They would never be together. Maybe one of them got swept under the couch by accident. They'd never be together again.

"Hey, Bren, you okay?" Ryan's voice reverberated around his head, sounding muffled. "Bren?" he asked again, and he was finally pulled from his thoughts. He wanted to shake his head like an Etch-a-Sketch just to clear the thoughts from his mind, but he didn't want to look like an idiot, so he just stared into Ryan's eyes. His own were wide open, and that he could recognize easily, but even with the appearance of a spooked cat, he beamed. "Yeah," he confirmed, "I'm fine. Just a little lost in my head today." Ryan didn't look convinced but turned to the girl on his arm and gestured to Brendon and Jon. "Z," he gestured to his girlfriend, "This is my roommate, Brendon, and?" His eyes looked questioning, and Brendon was about to introduce Jon, but instead, he leaned across Brendon and Ryan and offered his hand. "Jon," he introduced himself, and Z shook his hand with confidence that Brendon could only dream of exuding. Then, she held her hand out to Brendon, and he hesitated to take it, subconsciously flinching just a little.

"Wow, you must be really lost in space today," Z jested to him, "How high are you?" In his shock, Brendon began to feel himself panic slightly. He wanted to impress Z, therefore impressing Ryan, but could only find the mind to stammer out, "Oh, I, um..." After a moment of stunned silence, Brendon stuttered, "I don't smoke!" To try and perhaps, ease his pain, Ryan reached down and squeezed his hand, an act of solidarity. (He thought.) It was gone as quickly as it appeared, and Ryan elbowed Z in the side. "Don't bully him." Z rolled her eyes with a sly grin on her face.

Brendon recovered as soon as he could, and smiled, nudging Jon in the side. "I had to tell this one the same thing about you earlier," he teased, "Only he didn't have the balls to do it to your face." Jon laughed, and within seconds, Ryan joined in. In the same amount of time, Jon kicked Brendon in the shin. "You're an ass," he insulted, "I just said that your outfit was unusual." Brendon gave him a smug look that seemed to say, "I'll cover for you this time, but you're a real bitch, you know that, right?" Jon's expression then gave a look of recognition as Ryan just shrugged and smiled. "That's the impression I like to give people. It makes me look a lot less put together than I am," he smirked at Z, and she just shoved him. "You were never put together in the first place, dumbass."

He rolled his eyes, but shot back, "As if you have any room to talk." She just shrugged and smiled smugly at him. "Wanna meet us for lunch?" she invited, and only after a few seconds did Brendon realize that she was speaking to him and Jon. "Oh, sure. What time?" he inquired, even though any time relatively around lunch wouldn't be a problem. He didn't have another class for the rest of the day until late into the night. "I was thinking about 12:30? At that cheap Italian joint right on the edge of campus." Brendon smiled. "Yeah, I can make it. Jon?" Jon winked to him, sneaking it past the other two. "I can't make it," Brendon's friend drawled, "I have a class straight over lunch. 12 to 1:30. Maybe next time." He smiled, and to Brendon, he could tell that he was up to something, but didn't know what.

"Alright," Z said kindly, "Next time, maybe. But meet you there, Bren?" The target nodded abashedly and smiled back to her. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," he exaggerates, and Ryan shrugs, smiling at her as he jeers, "I would." Z punched him in the side. "That's it," she shot back at him, "I'm leaving." She promptly walked into the next building, with an impossibly confident swagger. Even if Brendon wasn't remotely interested in her, he had to admit that she knew how to put her body on show.

"C'mon, you creep," Ryan elbowed him and joked, "Don't look at my best friend like that." Brendon's eyes took on an alarmed recognition, and he began to falter again, "Oh, um, I don't actually go for that." He trailed off and saved himself with another stumbling attempt, stating nervously, "I actually don't go for women? At all. I'm gay. I like guys." Ryan just chuckled at him and shrugged. "To each their own," he justified, "I have no problem with it. I honestly don't know what I like. I just like people, I guess." Brendon nodded. "That makes sense. People are okay sometimes." Ryan laughed. "Yeah," he agreed, "They're alright, sometimes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. I'm tired. Winter break finished today and now finals are coming... Woohoo? Uh anyway, I might not update next Thursday. Not like I've established an updating schedule anywhere besides my own head but anyway, who's to say? Maybe I'll update, maybe I won't.
> 
> Also, I'm going to add something new to my updates which will be the song of the week. My thinking behind this was just that music is like the biggest part of me there is, so if I show you my music, maybe you'd get to know me a little better. This week's song is Poolside by JJAMZ. See y'all next week (possibly)


	3. Coffee, Cocoa, and Honey

"Hey," Ryan grinned shyly at the pavement, and then met Brendon's eyes. "Z should be here in a few minutes," he chattered nervously, "She got caught up in the uni traffic." Brendon shrugged and looked at a tree behind Ryan, all of its leaves flaking off one by one in the wind. "Wanna get a table?" Brendon murmured and finally looked into his gorgeous brown eyes. They were the color of sunsets, but at the same time, the color of coffee and cocoa. For a sweet, dazzling moment, Ryan's honey irises conquered his line of sight. Then, with a swoosh of Ryan's dark hair, they were gone. "Sure," Ryan responded with a chuckle, "She'll find us. Come on."

As Ryan pulled him into the restaurant by his wrist, it almost felt thrilling, like they were children sneaking out the window for the first time. But they were in college now, and this wasn't an adventure. They were only walking into a shitty Italian restaurant that was probably only near campus because it was a cheap place to maintain. "Table for three, please." Ryan forced a tight smile at the hostess, and she nodded at them. The lady behind the counter picked up three menus and led them to their table. 

The hostess led them to their booth, and after they ordered their drinks, she left. "So," Ryan said awkwardly, dragging his abnormally long pointer finger along the design on the wood, "What's up?" His head rested on his hand as the strands of his hair fluttered with the draft from the window. Brendon let his shoulders jerk up into a shrug as he looked up, then outside. "This is kinda awkward," he noted laughingly, then met his eyes with a sort of dazed look. "Just wondering," Brendon probed, "Could I ask you a question? About last night?"

Ryan paused and visibly mulled over Brendon's question in his head. With a slight hesitation in his voice, he responded uncertainly, "Sure, why not? What is it?" Following his inquiry, Ryan's features took on a shade of anxiety. Brendon absorbed his emotion and began to panic as well, but asked anyway. "Uh," he started falteringly, "Why do you dress like that? Well, not "like that," but why do you look so different every day? Yesterday you were dressed like a little emo kid, and now you're dressed like a hippie." A sigh of relief fell from Ryan's parted lips, and he shrugged at Brendon's question. "I don't know. I didn't grow up very wealthy." Ryan's face seemed to twist into a grimace, but he continued. "I don't have the clothes I'd like to wear at home. One of my friends bought me this outfit because he knew I didn't want to dress the way I did. It reminds me," he paused weakly, "It reminds me of him." He bit his lips into his mouth nervously and drummed his fingers on the table as Z came over. As soon as he took notice of her presence, he straightened up and smiled at her.

"Hey, Z," he said as he pushed himself closer to the wall for her to sit. "How was class?" She slid into the seat and raised her eyebrow with suspicion written all over her face. "It was alright," she responded slowly, "Why are you acting all weird?" He shrugged, seeming to be nearly bouncing in his seat. "I'm not. Just excited to get food." Z still didn't look convinced as he looked at the menu. "You sure? You're acting. I don't know. You're acting like Spencer." In the following seconds, it was like all of the joy and childishness in Ryan's stature vanished. He appeared decades older and faded and withered by his age. "Yeah, I shouldn't. That sort of thing would get me kicked out around here. Sorry." Z's face molded into a frown. "No, honey, you know that's not what I mean."

"No!" Ryan burst out, his face flushing with shame, "You know what you meant, Z. He ruined himself with those things. I would never do that." Z shook her head and tried to put a hand on his shoulder. "No, Ryan, I didn't mean that. You know I didn't. You were just," Ryan cut Z off angrily, "Giddy! I was giddy, just like when he was on whatever the hell he was taking. I know. Please stop." Z bit on her lips and nodded hesitantly with a glaze of regret clouding her eyes. "Here, that'll pay for my drink," she said sheepishly and pushed a five-dollar bill in his direction. Then, she left.

Although Brendon was vaguely confused about what had just happened, he was more just concerned. Hot tears flooded Ryan's cheeks as he gazed blankly into his lap, and Brendon felt incompetent. "Hey," Brendon tried to comfort him, "Hey." A sensation of hurt stung in his stomach, and he quickly slipped into Ryan's side of the booth. "Can I?" Brendon asked in a voice trembling with parts hope and worry. He opened his arms, and to his surprise, Ryan fell into them with a nod of his head. His arms instantly wound around the bony body in his arms as his stomach turned with despair. The wracking sobs from the adult who he was protecting in his embrace-- it was hard to believe that Ryan wasn't a seven-year-old from his disposition-- were heartbreaking. With every tear, his heart seemed to tear in two just a little bit more.

"It'll be okay," Brendon purred, "Just calm down, Ry." He exhaled softly into Ryan's chocolatey locks, and his body seemed to calm a little with the affirmation. "Yeah," he agreed and pulled himself off of Brendon's chest with a small, half-baked sigh. Just then, the waitress came over and introduced herself. "Hello," she opened, "I'm Keltie, and I'll be your waitress today. Can I get anything to start you off?" Ryan glanced down at his menu and kept his head buried in it as he ordered a plate of cheesy breadsticks. With a flirtatious blush on her face, the girl who presented herself as Keltie took his order, then went to the kitchen. 

"Looks like someone likes you," Brendon joked, though, with the lightness of the joke, he felt his heart sink like an anchor. Ryan looked up, hesitantly, and shrugged. "I guess she looks good enough. And she doesn't seem too unpleasant." Despite all of his instincts and whatever longing he felt, Brendon just nodded in agreement. It was stupid, anyway. He'd only known Ryan for two days, or maybe even less. Feelings at this point were baseless. Feelings wouldn't get him anywhere at this point, not that they had in the past either. "Shoot your shot," Brendon proposed with a wavering that he tried to banish from his voice. "Or, you could just subtly flirt with her the whole time. Whatever's your style, man. Just go for it," he encouraged, glad to see the man start to feel happy, or at least look it. Ryan seemed to take this advice, his head bobbing along to the beat of Brendon's words.

"Yeah," Ryan grinned, and articulated in a soft tone, "Maybe I will." A sort of shockwave hit his heart. Wasn't Ryan already dating Z? It sure seemed like it. It's not like you can't be friends with someone of the opposite gender without being attracted-- his best friend at home was a girl-- but they seemed way more intimate than friends. "Sure?" Brendon asked hesitantly, not sure why he was so timid. Ryan was planning on cheating on Z, and he was about to be not only a witness but an accomplice as well. Ryan took notice of the undeniable horror in Brendon's eyes and met his gaze with one of utter confusion. "What?" Ryan asked almost defensively, but also with a hint of concern tinging his voice. How could he be so calm about all of this? "What? Uh, um. Aren't you already dating someone?" Brendon spluttered tensely, clearly apprehensive from his body language.

Ryan, of all people, burst into laughter. Why was this a laughing matter? How was cheating something to laugh over? Even if he hadn't known her long, he knew that this would shatter Z's heart into a million hopeless pieces. "I'm not dating anyone," he chuckled, and Brendon's heart somehow dropped more. He couldn't understand why, but it just fell into the abysmal pit that was his stomach. "You aren't?" Brendon questioned, "Then why are you and Z so?" He thought for a split second but realized he couldn't find a way to describe their word verbally, so he instead twisted his middle and pointer fingers around each other, like the ASL sign for R.

Ryan raised his eyebrows, searching for sincerity in Brendon's eyes, and when he saw it, it only caused him to snicker louder. "No," Ryan chuckled, "We're just really close friends. We've known each other since we were eight. So, we've just gotten used to hanging on each other. So if you don't mind, I'm trying to get a girlfriend." Ryan winked at Brendon slyly just as Keltie came back over to the table and blushed. "Here they are," she said as she set the plate on the table, then another with a salad on it. "And a house salad," she added. "We didn't order a salad," Ryan said confusedly, and Brendon laughed at him, whispering in his ear, "Smooth." Keltie laughed a little. "It's on the," she paused and thought for a second as she tossed her dumb blonde hair over her shoulder, "It's on the house, I guess." A soft giggle passed her lips, and Ryan chuckled with her. "Thanks then, Keltie."

The waitress left with a pink blush flushing her cheeks, and Brendon elbowed his flatmate in his side. "Flirt! Can you even flirt?" he chided Ryan as he shook his head incredulously. Ryan shrugged. "What do you want me to do?" Ryan complained, "I thought she mixed up someone else's food with ours!" Brendon rolled his eyes. "When she comes to take our order, you better make up some smooth pickup line for her, or we're done," Brendon joked. Ryan groaned, and in his frustration, slipped down into the booth. "I can't do that, Brendon! I'm a dork. Dorks don't flirt!" Brendon shrugged with a smirk and a sly glint in his eye. "Maybe they do, who's to say? Certainly not you." He winked and looked out the window.

"Help me!" Ryan pleaded with him, "If you want me to flirt with someone, I need you to tell me what I have to say." Brendon laughed and looked back to him, his almond eyes scanning him up and down. "You think I know how to flirt?" Brendon mocked him and laughed. "In my wildest dreams, Ry. I couldn't make a dog fall in love with me."

Ryan gasped as if shocked. "How could you say such a thing?" he almost cried, his eyes wide in mock terror, "Dogs love everyone! Even me!" Brendon shrugged placidly and raised his eyebrows at the skinny man in front of him, deadpanning, "I don't think there's anyone that wouldn't fall in love with you. The last time I was near a dog, it cried until I left. Then it tried to bite me. I'm telling you, even dogs can't love me." Ryan, instead of pretending to be horrified again, pushed his shoulders up into a shrug as he looked at him with a fog of melancholy clouding his gaze. "You're not unloveable. Some dogs are jerks," Ryan reassured him, "You'll find a dog to love you. And I'm sure you have people that love you already."

"If you say so," Brendon said, clearly only saying so to keep him from talking. Just as silence fell over the two, the waitress Keltie came back over. "Are you two ready to order?" She smiled beautifully, thought Brendon, but he could tell that she was only directing those pearly whites at Ryan. None of those beams of sunshine pouring through the imperfections in her teeth were for him. He wanted Ryan to smile at him like that. No-- that wasn't fair. He wasn't allowed to want that. That was wrong.

"Uh," Ryan replied smilingly, "Can I have the meatless lasagna?" Keltie scribbled down his order, and by the look on her face, Brendon could decipher that she approved of his food choice. "And for you?" Keltie questioned Brendon, and he began to panic. "Same as him," he stuttered out to the pretty blonde, and she nodded with a flirtatious smile at Ryan. "It'll be right out," she told them, then left their table. "So," Ryan smiled back at him, clearly pleased with the success of that interaction, "How'd I do?" Brendon laughed a little. This twink thought that he was even a decent judge of how well a romantic interaction went? "Well," he smiled somewhat weakly, "It looked like she was into you. I mean, you're awkward, but she seems to dig it."

Ryan nodded and glanced at his face, his dreamy expression quickly shaping into a frown. "Are you okay, Brendon?" he asked with a hint of concern on his tongue and reached forward to touch his shoulder. "You look sick. Do you want to go back to the dorm?" Brendon forced a smile at him. "No," he reassured him, "I'm fine, I promise. Probably just hunger. I usually eat like a pregnant woman." He laughed a little at his joke, and Ryan joined in with him as he tacked on, "Without the weird cravings, of course." Ryan nodded in agreement but didn't add anything else as he began to stare dreamily out the window. It seemed then like a cloud encased his head, or maybe a shimmering mist. Something that could block him out from the mortal world, because from the way that he had enchanted Brendon, he was not a mortal at all. But, no, he thought, he wasn't allowed to consider anything like that. Ryan would never be his to decipher because he was not gay, and he would never be gay. That was a sin, and Brendon was not a sinful person.

He was holy-- well, not exactly. He'd broken plenty of the rules before, like drinking alcohol and kissing girls, but having relations with a guy? That was way too far. He would never do that. "Here's your food," a chirpy voice sounded from his stupor and startled both him and Ryan from their collective daze. Two plates of meatless lasagna slid onto the glossy wooden tabletop. "Can I get you boys anything else?" She looked into Ryan's eyes provocatively, and he shrugged back before looking at Brendon the next second. "Say you," Brendon mouthed discreetly, and he seemed to take the hint as he turned back to the seductive waitress. "Uh, yeah, actually," Ryan replied with an impossibly velvety voice, "Could I get a large order of?" He trailed off as he looked at the menu and restarted, "Could I get a large order of your phone number?" She smirked at his smile, which was cocky beyond measure, and jutted out her lip in thought. "Maybe," she said finally, "Maybe if you tip really well." She began to laugh at the slight confusion that shrouded Ryan's face, and affirmed him, "No, you can have it." She scribbled something down on her order notepad and gave it to him. "Here, you can even text me to make sure it's real." A charming smile settled on her face as she stuck out her hip provocatively, and Ryan punched the numbers into his phone. He jabbed his fingers into the worn-down keys of his flip phone, and when something vibrated in the pretty blonde's pocket, he was satisfied and beamed up at her. "Thanks," Ryan drawled, and she nodded before getting back to work.

. . .

"So, how's it going?" Brendon asked with a knowing smile as Ryan frustratedly pushed his fingers into the sticky keys on his phone. Ryan met him with a groan, then after the push of a send button, "Well, it's going great. But my phone's so fucking slow, Brendon. It makes me want to chuck it out the window."

Brendon chuckled. "Why don't you just call her?" he asked, plopping down onto the strangely messy bed. "It would be so much easier than texting on that brick." Ryan rolled his eyes with an expression that conveyed that he believed it was obvious. "I might get nervous, duh. I'm still not that suave, just because I got some girl's phone number." Believe what you want to believe, you skinny fucker. "Well, better that she get to know the real you rather than the one that gets edited three times, right? If you fabricate yourself, then start dating, and you have to see her all the time, she might not actually know what she's getting. Call her." Ryan seemed to realize that he was right and nodded. "Okay," he agreed, "I will, I guess. But actually, I want you right here, since Z isn't. Wait, shit, I should probably talk to her too. I was bad earlier." Brendon nodded a little. "Maybe call her first, though. Tell Keltie that you have to talk to your friend. If she's worth it, she'll understand." With that, Brendon left the room and allowed his friend* to make his choices on his own.  
*Were they friends? Brendon wasn't quite sure. He'd like to be. If Ryan could just maybe confirm their friendship, that would be nice. Maybe Brendon would have to write up a friendship contract. But that, he supposed, that would probably be too much of a Sheldon Cooper move. He did not want to act like that prick, especially with Ryan. He had to be sweet if he wanted to win the guy ('s friendship).

He could hear talking from Ryan's room as he entered his own, and it wasn't hard to figure out that tears were being shed. The thin walls made it easy to hear at least one side of the conversation; "No, Z, I'm sorry, I overreacted... Z, I know. I know he's getting help. Please, I'm sorry. I just, I miss him, okay?" He paused for a long time, and there was audible sniffling from the adjacent room. Brendon longed to hold him again. "He was my best friend," Ryan pleaded with Z, "Yours too. I don't understand how you're not more worried about him." Again, Ryan paused to listen. "No, you're not getting me Z, we were... Spencer was my best friend. You're my best friend, but no one could ever replace Spencer." An audible sigh passed through the plaster.

"Yeah," Ryan said after a long wait. "Yeah, we were. That," Brendon could almost hear his lip bite through the drywall, "That happened. It was my fault that happened." Brendon went and laid on his bed, looking up at the ceiling as he began to feel like this was wrong. He wasn't meant to listen to this, but he couldn't help but do so. "Yeah, I'll talk to you later. Bye." There was a harsh beep from Ryan's phone, then sniffling, and stifled sobs. Afterward, a dial tone and a separate, manlier voice whispering from the phone. "Can I talk to Spencer Smith?" Ryan questioned waveringly, and a few seconds later, he returned, "Oh, okay then. When does he get them back? Thank you, bye." More sniffling. Louder uninhibited sobs. A knock on his door.a

A knock on his door. Quickly, Brendon scrambled to his feet and tugged the door from its slot in the doorframe. Ryan once again fell into his arms. He didn't understand why every time Ryan got hurt, he fell into his embrace. Really, he didn't mind at all. Even if he didn't, it still made him wonder. Instead of wondering, though, he pulled Ryan to his bed and held him until sleep overtook him. When he heard Ryan's breath even out, he took one last glance at the now-calm red letters on his alarm clock. The time (1:39) leaked into his soggy brain as he allowed himself to slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! SO, we're back! I took my last final today and so far, I've done really well! I got all near or absolute 100's other than my English final, which was an 86 (and my Biology final, which hasn't come back yet, but we won't talk about that). I'm so excited to be writing this fic again, even if it was quite a drag to restart. We love angsty Ryan. You cannot tell me that his tears don't ever get to you.
> 
> I'm evil. 
> 
> Anyway, the song of the week is (I Guess I) Miss You from Spongebob the Musical. Quite a change from the last chapter, but I recently was introduced to this wonderful show by a friend and even if it sounds really stupid (which it is) it's a very technically amazing and stunning show*. If you have two hours to spare, look up "Spongebob the Musical 2019" on Youtube and watch it. Maybe it's just me being an old fan of our favorite sponge, but I was blown away by everything in the show. See y'all next week!
> 
> *side note, Ethan Slater is a god. I said what I said.


End file.
